In a rainforest, young love, a restless dictation, swelters of words.
These words, transcribed or conscripted, realize something in action.
The action takes place sailing. Rivers inhale. the boat stutters in
phrases of indignant rapprochement. Clearly a season begins. The people
of Tangier have set limits. We read the news even now. Potency exhausts
after all. posing for pictures at the end of Massachusetts, relying on
something virtuous in saying so. Or backing up just to assert that
fraction. A town at the end of Massachusetts, looking over to Tangier,
desperate to be in place. The news of place then returns. Tired people
in spirit detach possible inflictions from conflict. Wise cats and dogs
roll into curves. The rainforest is have or enough. distance causes
evaluation. Soon a tunnel thru to the heart of something else, which
will ring Appalachian door harps. Spots on the sun as testaments for
extra centuries. Looming over these messages the quality of mirage. the
holiday isn't real.
No comments:
Post a Comment